


Regenerate: Intermission

by doesnotloveyou



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, One-Shots, Spoilers, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doesnotloveyou/pseuds/doesnotloveyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of brief one-shots from my fic "Regenerate".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matt, Vince, & Logan

**Author's Note:**

> These are canon one-shots from a fic I've been writing involving my original characters. I'd suggest reading the main fic first if you care to avoid spoilers and/or know what on earth is going on.

_\- Matthew, 2001 -_

He wrinkles his nose at her breath. Jackie tugs the bowtie and leans back. She giggles. “You look like a conductor.”

            Matthew tugs at the crooked tie. “It’s too tight.”

            “Oh stop that,” she smacks his hand, teetering as she does so, “you’ll make me have to do it all over again.”

            She turns to walk out the door when she catches sight of herself in the mirror. Matthew rolls his eyes and walks past her. Jackie catches him by the collar with one manicured finger as she tries to fluff out her bangs with the other hand. “God, these are going out of style so quickly.”

            Matthew puffs at his own shaggy hair. “Mooooom.”

            “Yah, yah. Go get in the car.”

            “I look like a damn girl.”

            Jackie scrutinizes him and quirks her lips. “Yeah, maybe, Mattie.”

            “How many times do I have to tell you to quit calling him that?” Robert steps around the boy as he enters the room readjusting his cufflinks. “I didn’t name him ‘Madeline’ I named him _Matthew_.”

            “You didn’t name him at all.” Jackie hiccups indignantly. “Matthew was my-”

            “Can we possibly go ten minutes without you mentioning your dead relatives? Matt,” Robert scrunches his brow, “go put on a real tie.”

            “You’ve _never_ cared about my family!” Jackie raises an accusatory finger, blinking to make sure it's aimed at her husband.

            “Oh please, we haven’t the time to argue about-”

            Matthew steps out into the hall and heads for the bathroom.

            “You think I’m not going to divorce you? I swear I’ll do it!”

            “What would be the point? You’ve already drunk all my alcohol, what else is there for you to take?”

            He finds the drawer full of Jackie’s hair supplies and pulls out a long, gleaming pair of scissors. The verbal blows ricochet down the hall, bouncing off chairs, picture frames, doorknobs, before cavorting around the bathroom. All is lost on Matthew, cushioned by his own selective deafness as he calmly cuts off his hair.

           

* * *

 

            -  _Vincent, 2006 -_

One wheel on the cart squeaks and wobbles as it trundles painfully down the aisle. Catherine remains expressionless as she goes through the routine. Canada Dry, Shasta Cola, Vanilla Crème. Her upper arm jiggles as she reaches for a pack of Miller. “I don’t know _what_ your uncle likes to drink, so he’s on his own.”

            Vince refrains from responding as he walks down the opposite side of the aisle. The bleary linoleum scuffs under his soles. His brows furrow in annoyance at the sound of someone coming. He distances himself further from his mother as a pair of teenage girls passes by wordlessly.

              _Fuck, I hate her. Like, slut much? First my brother and now my ex, what a bi…_

            _…this can’t be happening to me. I swear he was wearing a condom, I swear. Just get rid of it, Dad’ll never know..._

            Vince’s headache throbs. Catherine looks askance at them, then at him. “Don’t worry. They wouldn’t want a loser like you anyway.”

            He ignores her, glancing up at the piñatas dangling shabbily over his head. A dingy yellow school bus leers at him with its stickered face. He rubs the back of his neck and keeps walking. The wheel screeches in agony.

* * *

 

_\- Logan, 2009 -_

The greasy countertop catches the fluorescent lights dully, diffusing now and again for an ancient water ring. Decades of cigarettes have left their redolent traces in the walls and yellowing linoleum, reminding the patrons just how long death can linger.

Logan stubs out the Cohiba in the dingy glass tray and takes a drink. He doesn't like frequenting one bar for too long in a strange place. People start sniffing around. Especially if they think they've seen you on TV. He’s a little pleased and a little bothered by his ability to peel off a clean bill. No more crumpled bet money from cage-fighting and other distasteful jobs.

            The news natters away on a small set turned to face the barkeep. Heat waves, foreclosures, unemployment, and a missing billionaire. None of it means a damn thing.

            Glass empty, bill paid, Logan begrudges himself an apathetic look in the wall-length mirror behind the bar.  _You sure don't look like a schoolteacher. Definitely not a husband._

 

* * *

 

            -  _Vincent, 2009 -_

There’s a dim light in the room. He can just make out her soft silhouette, seated on the edge of the bed. She runs her fingers over his cheek and smiles, the corners of her eyes lifting. She somehow seems even lovelier in the dark. He smiles back, tempted to reach up and touch her face too.

            Standing up, she walks gracefully over to the window. He sighs and sinks deeper into the blankets, at peace with himself. The blinds are raised with a startling noise, and she shouts suddenly,

            "Wake up, wake up! Asshole,  _wake up_!"

            Light bursts violently into the room, filling every corner with flame.

            He jumps to his feet, instantly awake, frantically brushing leaves from his hair. John grabs him roughly by the front of his jacket, and together they crash through the undergrowth, taunting cries rebounding off the trees.

* * *

 

_\- Matthew, 2010 -_

Women complain outside the bathroom stall, smacking the door with their palms. Their irate chorus blends well with the music, a dark, frantic rhythm that batters the structure and hums in the floor. This one, with her smeared mascara and damp bangs, roams him greedily, her hands venturing into exciting places. He gasps and clings to her feverishly, his back to the cool tile. The beat reverberates through him.

            Stupidly, his lips fumble with hers.  _Cherry Chapstick._ His cell phone vibrates in his back pocket, again, for maybe the eighth time tonight. He groans into her mouth and throws the device at the toilet. It clatters against the seat before falling in with a somber splash.

_Call me now, Mom._

* * *

 

_\- Vincent, 2010 -_

            The drizzle has him damp through. He's blinking away sleep when the sound of the igniter causes him to jump. "Jesus fucking hell."

            There's a gleam in John's eyes. "Antsy tonight aren't we?"

            He wishes he could use his earphones, but he's on stakeout. Any brain activity that comes within twenty feet needs to be reported immediately. His range is only about ten feet if someone's standing next to him, but no point in telling  _them_ that. He recites lyrics in his head to kill time.

            "Damn." John spits on the slick asphalt as two figures approach in the darkness. He glances up at the high rise, glaring at a third-story window. "They can't do anything right." 

 


	2. The Potts Prerogative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This bit was actually in Regenerate originally and comes before Matt's nightclub scene in the previous 'chapter', but after a bout of merciless revisions I cut it from the main story. Thus, here it resides as a one-shot because it stands on its own just fine. For readers who finished Regenerate: Part One before 5/22/16, you've already read this segment. For everyone else, please enjoy!

_\- Tony & Pepper, 2010 -_

            Pepper sighs as she sends a text to the company board director. “You can’t just adopt a teenager, Tony.”    

            “Um, no, I wouldn’t try-”

            She looks at him across the seat. “You said you’re paying back a favor, I think you’ve overpaid it.”

            “I offered her an internship with you, she didn’t want it, she wanted to see the suit.”

            “Okay, well I think you should say goodbye now.”

            “Is this because I didn’t tell you about the internship?”

            “I’m not even sure why you told _her_ about an internship.”

            “She’s my student, I’m teaching her.”

            “The awkwardness has continued long enough-”

            “You scare her.”

            “I- what?”

            “It’s true, she thinks you hate her.”

            “No, I don’t _hate_ her. Why would she think I hate her?”

            He shrugs. “You obviously don’t like having her around.”

            “Tony, this is really questionable stuff- Do her parents know?”

            “Honestly, I don’t think they care.”

            “Well, I care, and if she doesn’t want to intern at _the company_ then that’s settled, she rejected your favor. The longer this goes on the harder it’s going to be when you have to actually break it to her that she can’t stay. Okay?”

            “Well, I can’t break it to her I don’t want to yet-”

            “See this is why-”

            “-and since you’re the one who doesn’t want her around I think you should break it to her.”

            “ _Excuse me?_ This is _your_ respons-”

            “We’re agreed. You do it.”

            “Oh no, this is _not_ one of your cheap ‘dates’ that you make me send out the door. You are going to do this yourself and you’re going to be a grown-up about it.”

            He rubs his eyebrows. “I can’t.”

            “Why can’t you?”       

            “She’s a smart kid, she’s learning fast and- Okay, you know, I’m doing something good for someone else, I’m being…selfless.”

            “You are unbelievable.”

            “I am, but that’s beside the point.”

            “Tony. Tony. Enough. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, and there’s no time to fit an unofficial apprenticeship in there or whatever you want to call it.”

            Tony stares at the back of the seat in front of him, thinking. “That’s perfect. Apprenticeship. Those still happen right, they’re a thing? _Celebrity Apprentice_ only I have better hair than Don.”

            Pepper sighs with disgust. “Fine, Tony, expo or apprenticeship, you can choose one, but for legality’s sake we need to _call her parents.”_

            “See, that’s not a balanced trade-off.  The expo is taking a googolplex of time, but it’s a piece of cake if I show her how to install a converter, and she’s seen Mark’s one through three, but that’s not cool, Pepper, alright. _Making_ suits is cool.”

            “Yep, I’m so very done arguing with you tonight.” Pepper picks up her phone again to address the seventeen messages missed while arguing with her boss.

            Tony shrugs, content in believing he won the argument. Ruffling Pepper’s feathers is always an enjoyable exercise, and he has no intention of turning away his new friend and admirer. But…it’s not an ego trip, please. Ace is too mean to him to flatter his ego.


	3. Before, During, and After [The Incident]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Just saw Civil War. It was a very long rollercoaster ride.

_- Matthew, 2011 -_

            He doesn’t know what it is. He wants to love them, any of them. He tries so hard, but it never works out. Stacia laughs beneath him as he leaves ticklish kisses down her neck. “God, stop it, Mattie.”

            What is he doing wrong? They never stick with him any longer than he can stick with them. They’re boring after sex, a few nights in, some flirty touches in public. They don’t stop being hot, nothing about them changes at all. What the hell is wrong with him? How do people fall in love? Once, and only once did he think it had happened, that he’d finally found a girl he still wanted even after their first thrilling night in bed. Then the second night was dull, and in the morning she was just another girl searching for her clothes.

            Stacia cries, squeezing his hand and gasping his name. What he hates is knowing this won’t even be worth it in the morning when she’s walking around in his shirt, chattering on the phone, expecting him to still be looking at her naked ass. The room will either be too hot or too cold, and the girl is either sweating like a dog beside him or running all the hot water before he even has a chance to use the toilet. Why is every morning so empty like this? Why don’t any of them see this fraud incapable of love?

            Stacia curls up to him under the sheets, sighing happily. Mechanically, he puts his arm around her shoulders, and wonders what that hollow sound between his ribs is if it isn’t a heart.     

 

_\- Clint, The Incident -_

            Crumbles of glass fall from his hair as he bends over to catch his breath. The elevator is still working despite being stormed by a mob of office workers. His ears are ringing, thankfully blotting out the smooth jazz. Everything about the last two days needs to be blotted out. All of it.

            Blood stains the carpet, dabs of it on the door and the ‘L’ button. He sighs and rests his eyes, planning to retrieve a few arrows without getting killed. Before getting killed. He basically expects death at the end of the ride. _Damn, lot of good you are._

            The street front is completely gone, glass spattered across every surface. A sink runs somewhere, and gas lingers morbidly in the air. He ducks behind the reception counter as an alien shrieks in the street. Cursing, he jumps out again realizing they’ve cornered something.

            Stark’s student is knelt on the ground and not looking too good. Six hostiles encircle her and one rams a gun against the back of her head. He can’t get across the lobby fast enough, and has no arrows left to take them down from here. “Hey!”

            The shot goes off. One more added to the list of people he’s failed today.

            Just as he makes it to the sidewalk, all six aliens raises their blades to their throats, and Clint halts with a grimace as they synchronously commit suicide. The girl is still kneeling, limbs trembling as she catches her breath, the ground below her face a blackened crater.

            Slowly, not noticing him, she stands up, steps around the pooling purple blood, and walks away shaking debris from her hair.

_- Matthew, 2012 -_

            _F*k you, you mutie piece of trash. And don’t bother sending back my stuff just burn it, it’s contaminated now._

Matt sits back in his chair. He doesn’t move because if he moves it could be regarded as something a mutant would do. The computer screen stares back at him impassively. His heart is at a standstill, his chest aches, and he can’t remember how to breathe correctly. Well, acceptably that is. For a human.

            Next he’s typing madly, forcing words more hateful to break through hers. He goes so far as phrases construed violent before hesitating over the return key. No, he’s not that kind of mutant. Not any kind. She’s wrong.

            The abrupt trill of a new chat message makes him jump. He clicks on the box instantly and breathes a sigh of relief. It’s just Madge.

            _Hey, Mattie, how are you?_

            The icon is very her, shirking the camera she herself holds while one dimpled cheek denotes a sanguine smile. It’s exactly the kind of embarrassed selfie he’d expect of her.

            _Hey Mags I’m fine. And yourself?_

He hits backspace in the other chat and watches the letters rush into that blinking black doorway.

 


	4. Grief Counseling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR SPOILERS herein if you haven't read through Ch. 69 of Regenerate (Part Two).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously. Spoilerspioiloersipolilserspoiprspoilers.

_\- Ace & Clint, 2014 -_

Clint didn’t hear about the attack on Xavier’s school until October.

            HYDRA had been quiet since that trouble outside Brisbane, and since he’d sustained injuries during a mission previous, he had missed that too. He was granted leave, and managed to dodge questions about his destination. No one, not even Nat, contacted him all month just like he’d asked. Besides, he thought, they didn’t need him that much.

            Pulling into the tower’s garage, taking the long, thoughtful elevator ride up to his suite, he was pleased to see Natasha already waiting for him. Pleasure gave way to seriousness, however, as soon as he read her body language. “Who got it?”

            “Ace.” Her hands were at her sides, and the thumb of her left hand ran back and forth over the tips of her fingernails. “HYDRA actually did it.”

            She reported everything they knew while Clint rummaged through luggage for his cell phone. The school was gone, and for a while the place looked abandoned. HYDRA and the military were predictably tight-lipped about their involvement, but the losses on HYDRA’s side were clear. Ace hadn’t answered her phone in weeks.

            “Construction’s begun- they’ve cleared the wreckage and laid the foundation. Tony tried to send relief funds, but apparently he knows the woman in charge of the rebuild. Bad blood there.” Natasha pursed her lips.

The phone didn’t pick up the first day, but the second day when her voice came through it was nothing short of a miracle. “Ace, hey, we’ve been trying to get in touch all month. Are you alright?”

            “Oh,” she sounded distant or maybe just embarrassed, “it’s been off. I forgot to charge it.”

            “Well, we’ve been worried about you. Tony even flew out there to see what happened.”

            “He did?” she sounded alarmed.

“Ace,” Clint tried to determine what Tony was gesturing to him then gave up, “look, how about you and I meet in person?”

            There was silence, long enough for him to ask if she was still there. “I’m here.”

            “Are you guys alright? How’s Vince?” Still no reply came, so he opened his mouth to again suggest that they meet, when she began to cry.

 

On a bench outside the boarded up business sits a girl he’s never seen before. Her jeans are loose and her hair pulled back in a failing pony tail, strands haloing around her face. Pulling up to the curb, he kills the engine with a lump in his throat.

            Over the phone Ace had balked at the idea of Tony or any of them stopping by the country club where the students and staff temporarily reside. Clint imagined cots in the dining room and pool house like a refugee camp, but Ace said they had bungalows and the kids were treating it like summer camp. She agreed to meet him after the headmaster’s funeral.

            “Ace?”

            Gradually, the girl turns her head to look at him, and his heart plummets. The face she’s wearing is hers, not an illusion, not a shift. She’s Ace and yet he’s never met this Ace. Before she breaks he sits beside her on the bench and pulls her to him with one practiced arm. Her face presses into his shoulder, fingers digging into his jacket, and he bites his tongue as she weeps.

            “What am I doing here?” she asks between gasps. “Why am I not with him? Why isn’t he here with me?”

            Clint knows the best he can do is grip her hard while fighting back his own tears. Silent shrieks disappear into the leather of his jacket as she shivers like a frightened animal. “This isn’t real. This can’t be real.”

            With a sharp inhalation she pulls back, wiping her tears from her face. Then she covers her mouth, showing the skin of her hands is cracked, tears streaming despite her best efforts to calm down. He wipes them away for her, licking tears of his own off his lips.

            “I’m sorry,” she holds the collar of his jacket, “I’m sorry for freaking out as soon as you get here.”

            “No, no, don’t apologize-”

            “It was magic when you called,” her voice is breathless, a single tone, like it’s about to give out. “I’d completely forgotten…”

            She turns her face to the ground and swears, spitting the curse onto the concrete. “I can’t believe you called.”

            “I should have called sooner.” Had I known, he thinks.

She lifts her head again, but looks over his shoulder like she’s afraid to make eye contact. “I’m sorry, I’ve just- I’ve just been…”

            He puts his hand on the side of her face, and she ducks her head back to his jacket, pulls her knees up, and appears to be making herself as small as possible.

            “I’m here, sweetheart.” He presses his hand to the back of her head, and tries to keep his voice from cracking. “Don’t apologize for crying, just cry. Damn anyone who judges you. You want to get in the car?”

            She shakes her head and pulls away again. “No, no, I can’t-”

            “Ace,” he swallows the lump in his throat, “come back with me. Come to the tower, you can stay in your room there.”

            She shakes her head adamantly. “The kids. They’ll think I abandoned them, I’m not doing that.”

            He turns his hips, takes her by both shoulders and lowers his face to hold her focus. “Look at me. You need time to heal. Time to yourself- Look at me,” he cups her cheek, “the best I can do is to make sure not to lose you too. I’m not losing you too.”

            Ace, who had been staring at him glassy-eyed and rapt, covers her mouth and it begins all over again.

            Now, they sit on the hood of the car, Ace still shaking. He’s gotten used to her breakdowns every eight to ten seconds. The gaps are getting longer though. He’s deduced from the cracked hands and pallor that she hasn’t been eating properly- her healing factor can eat away at her faster than a normal metabolism when not maintained.

            Clint’s face itches from the tightened skin. “C’mon, you’re getting in the car, and I’m getting some food in you.” He pats her shoulder and squeezes it. “And then I might drive you back to the school.” He moves a hair behind her ear. “Or just take you somewhere else entirely.”

            With a shuddering sigh, she shakes her head. “I’ve been gone too long already.”

            He watches as she straightens out the cuffs of her sweater- doesn’t recognize the sweater, realizes it’s Vince’s. “They’ll be alright for another hour, you need a break.”

            She pauses and just stares at her sleeves. “I ran out of clean laundry.”

            “That happens.”

            Looking up at him, her voice quivers. “Clint?”

            “Don’t think about it.” He starts taking his jacket off. “Here, I’ll trade you.”

            She pulls the edges of Vince’s sweater closer. “No.”

            “Then don’t think about it. I’m sorry, that’s the best I can do.” He puts his jacket back on and taps his knuckle on the hood of the car. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

            She’s buckled in and he’s reaching for the ignition when she says. “We got married.”

            “What? When?”

            The following sigh rattles through her. Instead of asking again, he takes one of the hands pressed between her knees, and holds it without looking away.

            They go to a drive thru because he doesn’t think she can handle a sit down place. He orders seven of the biggest things on the menu, and when they drive away he looks upon the trove of paper bags and drink holders in her lap with some satisfaction. He finds a park, and parks under a brilliant gold maple that drops leaves on the hood almost instantly. Ace seems comforted by the enclosure of the car, and makes no move to get out. Food stays in her hands at all times, she eats a fry when he offers it to her, she bites into her burger when he looks at her, and she forgets altogether that one of the milkshakes is hers. If he looks away for too long, she won’t move again until he looks back.

            Apparently, a teacher she calls Ororo has been her main means of support. The two of them monitor curfew, get up during the night to calm nightmares, get glasses of water, and address other nocturnal issues. Ororo makes time to talk to her about Vince, so Ace tries not to wake her anymore when things happen in the night.

Clint scrutinizes her physical tells, setting his mouth in a grim line when he realizes she’s being very guarded in that respect too. What she doesn’t say, she doesn’t show, and he knows there’s a lot she’s not saying.

            “What happens to it all?” she asks after a minutes-long silence. “His enjoyments, his frustrations, the plans he made. Where does all of that go?”

            Clint parts his lips, feeling like this is a question he should and can answer. When he stops himself, Ace crumples up the sandwich wrapper and tosses it back into the bag.

            “Those few times when Vince was at the tower and you were at work,” Clint drops his own trash in the cup holder, “we used to hang out.”

            She stops tidying to give him her full attention.

            “He’d get hungry and sneak into the kitchen for a snack- like we didn’t all know he was there.” He sucks ketchup off his thumb. “So one day, I waited for him to come through that archway just like he always did at three o’clock, and I nailed him with a water gun.”

            There’s a gleam in her eyes that could be anger or amusement. She was pretty protective of Vince, which was why he’d never told her before.

            “He was a little surprised, even more surprised when Steve jumped around the corner and sprayed me with one too. We gave Vinny his own super blaster, and chased each other up and down the stairs for ‘bout an hour.”

            The smile this story incites is exactly what he was going for. When he feels that cottony sensation in his head, he figures she’s reliving the memory with him. “Anyway, things were going great until Tony found out what we were up to. He got his own gun and started making up rules until I squirted water in his mouth while he was talking. Vince just rolled onto the floor laughing at that point, so…we all hosed him down until we ran out of ammo. He never stopped laughing, just sat there all soggy and hugging himself. Your boyfriend was a dork.”

            She laughs, and he turns soon enough to see that she’s not looking at him, not exactly. More like through him, watching the memory play out. Then the look vanishes, her smile drops, and her brow bends. He said “was”.


	5. Unresolved

_\- Ace & Clint, March 2015 - _ 

            Every time is like the first- he pulls up to see a woman leant against a tree or sitting on the curb, gradually sinking into the pavement.

            Today might be a trick of the eye- not with his eyesight- to say she appears lighter, a weight lifted off her shoulders to some degree. She stands up when she sees the car- a good sign- and walks to the driver’s side window- not a good sign. He rolls down the window and leans out, but before he says anything, her lips part. “Logan left.”

            Clint looks down. “Well, we knew it was coming eventually.” She nods slowly, and he watches her do it. “Come on.”

* * *

 

            Clint pays for my drink, knee bouncing, hands clasped with one elbow resting on the bar. “What are you going to do? Just stay?”

            I run my finger over the lip of the bottle, the flesh of my thumb sucking into the opening. “They need the help.”

            “Ace, the point of having a suite at the Tower is that you don’t have to just stay nights.” He nudges me gently with his elbow. “You’re wearing yourself down.”

            Patrons murmur and mumble- a feeble few at this hour. The wreck at the end is hunched over a burger and a pint while the tender watches him restlessly. “I’m helping. Just until they’re back on their feet.”

            “But Logan’s gone.”

            “So?”

            “So who picks up his workload?”

            My hand slides down the neck, erasing the condensation. I lift the beer to my lips. “What workload?”

            The city itself is overbearing and loud, making the sixty-something floor of the Tower a private island of solace. Clint gave them no warning of my visit, five people I haven’t seen in seven months, so silence stuns the room all at once as I stand awkwardly before the elevator, bracing for an attack.

            Tony breaks the ice with, “Coffee cake? Still warm.”

            He then fills in the air with babble, and Steve counters it to keep the conversation moving. Bruce squeezes my knee, and when Natasha arrives from whatever task she’d been attending to- damp hair; a shower- the pleasure in her smile is authentic. The scientists were only supposed to be seated for a minute- tests to run, energy signals to track down- and when they do leave with evident despair, Thor takes their place. No solemnity from the celestial warrior, no humble pat on the shoulder or sage reminder that death is a gateway to the beauteous afterlife. No, he circles behind the couch and pulls my hair before sitting down.

            When the name Baron Strucker reaches my ears, it’s a greeting. Good omen or bad, I do not hesitate to suit up and buckle in. Storm and the students can bear the loss of me for a day.

            As with all missions with these guys, I’m surprised no one’s died yet. While the bunker turns out to be a dead end- and really, how many bunkers can HYDRA _have?_ \- the derelict cabin at the edge of the cliff turns out to be the entrance to a HYDRA Narnia within the mountain; eight miles from the godforsaken bunker.

            No Strucker, but three other Heads, a sea of cantankerous soldiers, a flurry of unnerved scientists, and a jumbling of file clerks and desk jockeys. Without being assigned, I take on the soldiers myself while Hulk bars the escape routes further down the cliff. The skirmish is hectic and lengthy for an Avenger endeavor. It takes two hours to restrain, confine, disarm, and beat the crap out of every spec of personnel on the premises. The compound is big, but the spaces are small, and it’s in a mountain so there’s no bursting through walls to escape grenade blasts and chemical fires. I enjoy it profusely.

            That is until three goons have Clint pinned to the wall with one hitting him repeatedly in the stomach. Invisible, I crash my armored fist against the man’s temple, reappear, and beat off the other two until they crumple to the floor- unconscious, maybe clinging to life by a thread.

            “What the hell was that?” Clint’s look at me with intense disbelief, doubled over but not puking. “Don’t do that again.”

            “Sorry,” I say to cut the discussion short.

            Stunned, he leans back against the wall and pushes himself to his feet before I can lend a hand. “You did that just for me, didn’t you?”

            I don’t respond, so he holds me with a look, still regaining his breath. “Never do that.”

            “It’s in the job title, Dorkeye.” Still, I shift uncomfortably.

            Shrieks come from down the hall. Muttering to himself, “Smart mouth named after a playing card,” Clint pushes off the wall and steps over the men, retrieving his bow from the floor.

            Another hour gets everyone marched out or carted away, and we pause to oversee the removal of weapons small and large, deadly and deadlier. There will be a field day once all the data is mined.   

            In the quinjet, Bruce fidgets in his thermal, his opera exuding headphones tamping down a furrow of curls. After nine years together, he and Hulk have still not resolved their issues with one another. The thunderous footsteps that had been pursuing me up the ramp come to a halt so Thor can clap me on the back. “You make your ancestors proud.”

            Without thinking, I say, “My ancestors abandoned me to die.”

            “Then they quiver in their graves,” he replies amiably before heading to his seat.

            I smile.


	6. Revels

_\- Avengers, 2015 – Age of Ultron: Party Scene -_

            HYDRA has fallen, Strucker imprisoned, and Loki’s scepter retrieved. Meanwhile I was at home fighting with a malfunctioning dishwasher while Storm and Emma were having a heated discussion on the floor above me. They omitted a lot, the blank spaces loud and obvious. I just tried to ignore it.          

Both a formal and informal invite told me to get my ass to the shindig at the Tower- the informal was definitely from Clint. I may have been absent in their triumphant moment, but I was still required to bask in the glory of it. Clint reassured me that the violence had been fitting and Hulk smashed many things.

The quantity of noise is an affront, but the music melts away the stress I built up in the elevator. The maze of people presents an unyielding barrier, but I don’t stop to take a breath before diving in, propelling myself to the bar. Don’t recognize the barman, but he knows me by name and serves me something neat. Crossing my arms, I lean on the counter and mark my regret in coming. It’s no matter that the school’s rebuilt, there still seem to be a thousand chores left unattended whenever I stop to sit down. I took an extra hour just to get ready- makeup, hair, whatever would hide the bags under my eyes and the slouch in my step- because of course Tony invited fashionable society people. There were a few dancing in jeans and cotton tops, but I don’t feel like I’m in their league.

            My hair is swept over one shoulder, blocking my view when someone casually brushes my arm and leans in. “What are you getting, gorgeous?”

            I turn my head. “Stop that.”

            “Oh my god, it’s you.” Tony looks flabbergasted- he’s only flabbergasted when he’s faking.

            I raise an eyebrow. “I know you’re not flirting with strangers behind Pepper’s back.”

            “Apparently I’m _not_ flirting with a stranger.” He finishes the last of his champagne and smacks his lips. “You clean up good, is this Ralph Lauren?” I snort and he grins. “Glad you could make it.”

            I clutch the glass in my hand. “I don’t know how long I can stay.”

            “Well, at least until the after party. That’s when we really let our hair down.” He flips a stray lock of my hair with one finger. _She must’ve been a gorgeous bride._

            Heat flushes my face and I duck my head so my hair will fall forward.

            “Shit. I thought that.”

            “Sorry, I couldn’t help-” Why am I apologizing?

            Tony presses a hand to the small of my back and gestures to my drink. “We need another one of these.”

            “No, we’re fine,” I tell the barman. Turning to Tony, “Don’t worry about it.”

            He keeps eye contact while biting his cheek. “And here you were hoping for a distracting evening.”

            Attempting to staunch an emotional outburst, I smile broadly and look into my drink. “Well, you did try to flirt me up.”

            “Yes, and I was rudely rejected.”

            Sighing, I turn and face the room. “I’m too old for you anyway.”

            After a few more drinks I find Steve, feeling heady enough to appear game for anything. When I approach he’s laughing with some lovely stranger, but when he sees me he grabs me by the shoulder like he was expecting me and lets me in on the joke. After a while the lovely stranger goes away.

            “She seemed nice,” I say. “Why not?”

            “Not really looking.” Taking a sip from his glass he looks down at me and raises his eyebrows. “You look fantastic, by the way. Does Tony know you’re here?”

            “Yes, he already hit on me.” A strange tang flavors the air, so I sniff Steve’s glass. “What do you have in there?”

            He looks sternly into it. “Something Asgardian I’m told.” He gestures to the pony-tailed humanoid standing a few feet away, and the man turns at the mention of his home planet. “She wants to know what you put in my drink.”

            Thor raises his eyebrows and smiles slightly, looking proud. “Oh, it’s a warrior’s brew, distilled for over a thousand years-”

            “Do you have any more?” I ask.

            He and Steve exchange glances, and Steve smiles wryly. “She can out-lift me.”

            Thor presses his tongue to his teeth, pulls a small silver flask out of his high-collared burgundy jacket, and puts his hand out for my glass. Meager drops of clear liquid splash onto the ice, and he hands it back without another word. Steve sucks in his breath, but both watch with faint curiosity as I take a reasonable sip. Nothing much at first-

            “ _Holy_ crap.”

            Thor chuckles. I drink some more- like having an Arctic breeze blast through my brain and wash out everything that hurts. “How much do you usually drink in one sitting?”

            “One does try not to drink more than, say, this much,” Thor casually holds up the flask, “especially not without a substantial meal.”

            Steve sees me contemplating and hands me his glass. “By all means.”

            Once I’m sure he means it, I accept his offer then down the last of mine.

            Everyone but Bruce is currently engaged, so I feel justified in giving him a long hug. They make him feel awkward, and by the time I pull away he’s caught on that I’m teasing him. “I thought you’d be even less of a party person than me.”

            “Nerdy Banner sitting in the corner at a college kegger,” I appraise, “still nursing his Diet Coke and a volume of Attenborough.”

            “Oh,” he buries his hands in his pockets, “you’re cruel.”

            I laugh. “You’re an easy mark and I’m feeling slow tonight. Sorry.”

            “No, no, keep laughing at me, it makes it look like I’m fun to be around.” He nods to the center of the room. “Have you met Helen yet?”

            “No, I don’t think I have.” A slight Korean woman in a navy dress listens politely as Clint mumbles. “Clint’s being boring over there isn’t he?”

            “Well, they’ve been talking quite a while.” Bruce swallows and the edge of his mouth quirks upward. “Who would he be at a kegger?”

            “The shirtless mook with paint on his belly and boxers on his head dancing on a table.” I adjust my shoe strap. “Not even drunk, just stupid.”

            Like Steve, Clint shows no surprise at seeing me as he puts his arm out and drapes it over my shoulder. “This is Dr. Cho. Cho, Ace.”

            “Helen,” she introduces herself. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

            “Likewise,” I say as I sit beside Clint on the couch- he’s perched on the back with his shoes on the armrest. “I hear Accident Prone got blasted, but Bruce says you fixed him.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Clint opens his jacket and lifts his shirt, “she grew my skin back, see?”

            The skin above his hip bone and stretching onto his abdomen is a pale shade of pink compared to the skin around it. I put my hand on the spot, unabashed since we’re all familiar with each other. “That is incredible, so seamless.” No emotion transfers. “Is it his own skin?”

            Helen tilts her head to the side pridefully. “I don’t know what Bruce told you, but unlike a skin graft it uses simulacra to encourage cellular regeneration in the damaged tissue. His nerve ends might not work like they used to, but we’re excited that he took to the process so well.”

            “Can’t feel a thing,” Clint adds. “Poke it.”

            “I’m not poking your new skin,” I tug his shirt back down.

            Helen and I continue discussing the science until another guest approaches her. Clint and I walk to the bar for a beer, then to the windows leering over Manhattan.

            “You were really into all that medical yak.” Clint says. “Or I’ve just never seen you be that polite.”

            I let the Asgardian liquor corrode my reservations. “We had that technology where I grew up; you could buy an over-the-counter version of it even. It’s good to see it finally on Earth. She’s my new favorite person.”

            “So you know about advanced technologies and you’re keeping them all to yourself?” he teases.

            “Well I don’t _know_ it. And I was a kid, it’s not like this occurred to me when I came back.” I poke him through his jacket and ask in a low voice. “Does Laura know?”

            He nods.

            I wait until he’s had a little more beer before asking, “Are you going home tonight?”

            “Tomorrow.” He takes another drink. “You are staying the night, right?”

            I look down at my toes, sheathed in black leather, my heels four inches off the ground. “I don’t like being away from the school. Anything could happen while I’m gone.”

            Clint inhales deep, filling out his chest and lifting his shoulders. “You realize ‘anything’ has already happened. We finished HYDRA three days ago, and…are you mad at me?”

            I glance up. “What? No. I’m still worried, Clint. Besides, it still feels like Vince is there sometimes, so I sleep easier there than I do here.” I press my tongue hard against the roof of my mouth. When that doesn’t work, I turn my head to face the window so no one in the room at least will see me lose it.

            Clint remains exactly as he was, but turns to face the window as well. “I can walk you downstairs whenever you feel like-”

            “I knew I wasn’t ready to come, but,” I swallow a gulp of air, “you said I should, so I came. I’ve been dying to see you all, I just…can’t function properly anymore.”

            “You’ll get there,” he looks at me sideways, “you will.”

            The noise spins through my head; glasses clinking, feet stomping, jewelry jangling, hors d’oeuvre trays clunking. Curses, guffaws, big talk, small talk, sleepy yawns, annoyed tirades. Outside, car horns, sirens, shouting, crashing, revving, running, whistling, rushing. Everything overlaps until it forms a smooth, living backdrop.

            I step backward, away from the glass. “I trust you.”

            The rest of the night is like the past year didn’t happen. I drink often, eat often, and try to get Thor dancing- he steps on my toes twice on purpose, so I punch him in the arm. When the last guest leaves the building and the music ends, Col. Rhodes, Maria, and us Avengers gravitate toward the coffee table. Helen Cho picks the seat nearest Thor, but can barely keep her eyes open. Steve should have given her his coat instead of Maria.

            I’m sitting on the floor with my dress tucked between my knees when Tony flicks a poker chip at me from across the table. I stick my tongue out, he sticks out his, and I’m reaching for an eggroll to lob at him when my phone buzzes.

“Already, Hardware?” Tony asks as I dig my phone out from under a takeout box. “Tell’em I said you have the night off.”

            It’s a text from Scott. Clint nudges my foot under the table, but I shake my head. Getting up, I straighten out my dress and search for my jacket. “You guys have a lovely after party. Tony, Maria’s going to win every hand, give up now.”

            There’s a general chuckle, Tony feigns a fold by throwing down a napkin instead of his cards, and Rhodey finds one of my shoes under the couch. Natasha hands me the other one. Clint lances a chopstick at my legs.

            “I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Steve offers, getting to his feet.

            “Oh, you don’t have to.”

            He waves that off and walks around the couches.

            “You’ll be alert for a few hours more, but make sure you’re near a bed,” says Thor, lifting his flask a jiggling it. “The crash is sudden.”

            “I would imagine,” I reply, strapping on my shoes. “Don’t stomp on any feet or get into trouble while I’m gone. That goes for all of you.”

            The group laughs or derides me playfully, and final goodbyes are said. True to his word, Steve walks me back to the elevators, keeping up a light conversation until we reach the door.

            “You’ll let us know if you need anything, right?”

            “Um, sure. Sorry, I don’t know what that means.” I brush my hair out of my face, chuckling a little stupidly.

            Steve smiles. “I mean in the long run, but if there’s anything you need help with tonight,” he nods at the phone in my hand. “While we’re all in one place.”

            “No, no, it’s nothing like that. Just a- some chore or household issue, probably I think.” I sound like a light-headed fool. Must be the drink. “But, thank you. For the offer.”

            “Well, then let me know if you ever need someone to talk to.”

            “Yeah, sure.” I press the elevator call button, although JARVIS usually calls it for me. “I always like talking to you.”           

            “I like talking to you too,” Steve says honestly.

            “No problem. You’re…comfortable.” No better word could come to mind? I step hurriedly into the elevator.

            “Thanks for being here tonight, Ace.” His smile is beautiful in a way that makes me feel proud to be a member of the same species. “You know you always have a place here.”

            My stupid mouth clamps shut, so I just smile and he smiles back until the doors close. I don’t see any of them again until Sokovia has turned to rubble.


	7. The Wakanda Commission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scenario in which Ace visits Steve in Wakanda on an important errand after 'Civil War.' They talk and things don't go so well. Essentially, she gets a chance to see Tony's side of things and be angry with Steve. Consider it a deleted scene before Ch. 88 of 'Regenerate.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMPLETELY NON-CANON. I wrote this months ago, couldn't find a logical way to cram it into the main storyline, but didn't want to delete it.

            “Where did the materials you stole end up, Ace?”

            I listen to determine just which ones he’s talking about. “Don’t worry, they’ve been handled.”

            “By whom?”

            “Tony,” I wave my sleeve above my head, “and that Queens kid.”

            “You’ve met him.”

            “He’s alright.” Now, onto the important issues. “The bruises I saw on you were intense. Tony must’ve wanted you dead to do that much damage.”

            A scene without dialogue, without context, replays in Steve’s mind. There’s a television screen and Tony in his full suit standing by watching- a car has been in an accident. Steam rises from the hood and a man crawls out of the driver’s side. Steve’s throat tightens as he watches.

            My insides twist and I take a step back, mouth opening for no reason.

            “I blamed him,” I stammer.

            Steve says nothing. What is there to say? I don’t want his defenses and I know he’ll never give them anyway. Steve doesn’t defend his decisions he just makes them. I used to admire that; I wanted to admire that.

            “Tony is- he pretends not to be- ruled by his emotions, he-he makes mistakes and doesn’t admit to them until far too late, _but you_.” I raise my voice, quivering. “You’re the goddamned logical one; the adult. I expected more from you.”

            Lashes lowered, jaw set in remorse or perhaps only impatience- he’s feeling both but my own emotions are infecting my judgment.

            “I can’t go back to him,” I repeat, clasping my hands, barely pleading. “You have no idea, how much he’s done for me. But I threw that away- largely due to my own issues at the time- but also because I thought you were right. He was out of line, it had all finally gone to his head.”

            I’m having my own personal earthquake, teeth chattering, limbs trembling, legs quaking. It’s the drugs, my nervous system hates it when I take them standing up- or ever since they’re the product of my own careless experimentation. Steve thinks grief is doing this to me so he gets to his feet, but one ugly look stalls him.

             I leave him like that, stopping in the doorway just to look back at his bulky, hunched figure. “You could at least show remorse. You could cry.”

            When he does nothing more than crease his mouth and recognize me with pained eyes, I exit the building.

            He follows me into the drill yard. “Wait.”

            “Get away from me.” I’ve got a joint wrapped and lit ready to be milked for mindlessness. “I wouldn’t hit Tony, but I’ll hit you.”

            “You didn’t let me speak-”

            “Let you.” I seek higher ground and climb the three blocky steps at the back of the yard. “Steve Rogers lets himself, how very American.”

            “I apologized, of course, beyond that there’s nothing I can do for him now. I don’t expect an apology to be enough.”

            “Just, stop,” suck the joint until my mouth is numb to the flavor, “talking.”

            Exhaled smoke wallows between us muffling further discourse. They’re still watching us from the observation deck, have been this whole time, saw me seizing and screaming or whatever the hell I was doing back there. Saw that Steve acted rationally and exceedingly stoic. I really could punch him for making me look like the crazy one.

            “Ace,” the unfeeling boulder finally speaks, “don’t let this stop us from being-”

            “No. I’m done. You all can deal with your problems on your own, I’m done making alliances.”

            He does not protest, but you can see his tongue move in his mouth with words he wants to say; _We can’t do this without you, People will die without you, You’re our only hope, We need you._

            Again, we stand in each other’s presence without saying anything. I smoke, he does whatever old boys do. I respected this asshole. I’m not convinced I don’t right now.

            “I wouldn’t have told him either,” I say. “Barnes isn’t even my friend, and I wouldn’t tell him. How does one unbury one’s parents and kill them again?”

            Steve licks his upper lip and I believe the edges of his eyes sharpen with tears, but that could just be the lighting.

            “Once you confirm it, you execute his belief in that accident and make the event vulgarly unjust. You killed his parents simply by telling, and _not_ telling drives the knife deeper when finally he knows.”

            I sound like Charles fucking Xavier. Pot makes me sound like a philosophical nutcase who can’t remember what she just did and said fifteen seconds ago. I hate this stuff, why do I use it? Surely philosophical me has a good answer.

            Tossing the joint, I descend the steps and walk right past Steve, pausing only to realize he’s said something. When he doesn’t repeat it, I keep walking.


	8. Chapter 8

            Back is killing me. Feel a headache coming on. I make the bottle pirouette on the table like a bulky ballerina. When my chest starts to ache I push the glass away and lay my head in my arms. Closing my eyes burns, so I keep them closed. Stomach pleads again to be fed, so I go into the kitchen and shut the curtains. Twilight was dampening the room. I sit down again in the dark.

            Two men, police from the sound of their vehicle, park outside and come up the front walk. Shoulder radios have a low, sharp sing to them, and the one on the left has developed a slight pant from walking. There’s a rap at the door.

            I should be out tonight- an earthquake in Sumatra, unrest in Togo. There are individuals I should check up on, see if they need help or a stern threat. Sometimes my dry spells teach them not to take me for granted; a night in jail or without dinner on the table reminds them I can’t be everyone’s keeper all the time.

            The cops are peering in the windows now and talking about college football. Eventually, they leave. My stomach pleads a little louder.

            I’m hunched in front of the open fridge when I remember I’ve already done this three times. Close the fridge, disinterestedly open the pantry, and then sit down again. I’d order delivery, but that would require finding the phone, waiting for it to ring, and talking. They’d ask what I want to order and I’d have to put thought into a decision concerning food I don’t want to eat in the first place.

            A quarter of the way through a second bottle, I finally get an appetite. I throw on a light sweater, though I have no idea what the weather’s like, and wander to the nearest store.

            Three frozen lasagna’s later, I call Weasel.

            “It’s…two am,” he mutters.

            “I take it Wade’s not with you?”

            “What?”

            I hold the phone in my hand for ages, admiring the weight and shape of it in my palm, rubbing my thumb over the buttons for the texture. Later, it rings, waking me up.

            “Hey, all your stuff that was in the Tower, you want it in your room or deep storage?”

            I smear my arm across my eyes. “I didn’t leave anything at the Tower, it’s already been moved.”

            “You’ve got,” Happy’s voice moves sideways as he looks over a list, “some furniture and a couple boxes.”

            “No, I don’t,” I repeat. “I moved everything out of the Tower months ago.”

            “Oh, good, so you don’t care if we drop it all off at the dump?” He sniffs. “In two days it’s gone- you can sort through it upstate.”

            He hangs up. It’s a trap and a weak one. I forgot to ask how he got this number.

 

            Rhodes walks in on his own two mechanically enhanced legs and stops short. “What the hell are you doing here?”

            He startled me. “Waiting for Tony.”

            “So he knows you’re here?” he asks skeptically.

            My wrists rest on my knees, hands barely clasped; my body has no inclination of moving and my eyes are barely staying open. “I don’t know what he knows.”

            Rhodes keeps an eye on me as rapid footsteps approach. “She supposed to be here?”

            “Yeah, it’s fine,” Tony waves him off, “stand down.”

            Rhodes watches me down his nose as he slowly he departs. Tony wiggles a finger at my head. “What happened to your hair?”

            “I set it on fire.”

            He hesitates.

            “I cut it.”

            He runs a hand over the back of his own hair. “It- you look good, you look like, um, who’s that singer?”

            I roll my eyes behind their lids. “How’d you find me?”

            “I didn’t. You buried yourself pretty deep-”

            “Who did find me?”

            He touches a finger to his lips.

            “Fuck me, nameless source or familiar face?”

            “Hill.”

            “Maria doesn’t give a damn about me why’d she contact you?”

            “Based on her vivacious delivery, I suspect she didn’t want to tell me.” He sits across from me, slapping his tablet down on a cushion. “What’d you do?”

            “Did you stop the shipment?”

            “We stopped a shipment, it was a catastrophe.”

            “In what way?”

            “The targets got away, people nearly died, though we eventually scraped up the weaponry from the bottom of the harbor.” He rubs his forehead like the headache’s still there. “You know the kid was involved. Tried to stop it with his bare hands.”

            “Actually some dumbass made him a suit that makes him think he’s invincible.” I lean back. “He’s too young to be recruited.”

            “Not recruited, interning. Leipzig was just a…a trial by fire.”

            I think about what we had kids do in the Danger Room. “I suppose you knew the other players wouldn’t try to hurt him. Didn’t exactly foresee Rhodes.”

            “Hey, you weren’t there, alright? You don’t get to pass judgment-”

            “I _wasn’t_. God, Tony. Just restating fact.”

            We shut up about that, though mentally he continues grumbling at me.

            “Oh, and, since you haven’t said anything.” He holds up his right hand.

            I squint. “What is that? Part of your suit?"

            “No,” he replies sharply, “it’s an engagement band.”

            “A whatta? Who are you engaged to?” And how much had he to drink when he met this random hussy.

            “Pepper, Ace. Who else? We got back together and…”

            My body is nailed to the seat. “I don’t believe you. She said yes to- no, I don’t believe this.”

            He reaches into his jacket. “Alright, I’ll call her.”

            The only thing that gets me out of my seat is when she appears on Facetime looking lovelier than I remember.

            “Yes, it happened,” she confirms in her offhanded tone. “It’s okay not to believe him though. Your hair looks great by the way, oh my goodness.”

            Tony and I crowd our faces into the screen.

            “This is amazing, I’m- I am so happy for you two.” Am I smiling? I look at Tony and he’s smiling, so I must be smiling. “Since you’re not here should I hug Tony? He was being an jerk a minute ago.”

            “Tony, why.” All joy disappears from her voice. “After all this time-”

            “She started it, but now we’re good because she knows about the engagement and, we’re fine.”

            “I’m glad you’re happy, Pepper,” I say, “even if this is the prize.”

            She laughs and the call ends soon after that. I retreat to my chair and sit on the arm,  waiting to see if he stoops for a rock to throw.

            “Look, don’t worry about the kid.” Tony waves self-assuredly. “And hey, if you want, he could use some training. Don’t let him rely on my expertise alone.”

            I’m shaking my head while he’s speaking. “I’ll only dissuade him. I’m glad he isn’t doing this alone, but.” I slump my shoulders.

            “You like him.”

            “A sweet, young guy from Queens whose passions are building stuff and saving the world?”

            We arch our eyebrows in sync. Tony smiles wryly. “You’ve escalated from urchin to cougar.”

            “God, this is why I hate talking to you.”

            “Ah,” he looks off, “well, that I can understand. At the risk of physical retribution,” he blinks one eye though I’ve never touched him, “are you as pissed at Logan as you are at me?”

            “I’m furious at him.” I always defended you to him too.

            He sighs, looking away to give the watery crooks of his eyes a chance to dry. “So what now? Because I know you don’t want me to decide for you— I’ve got that written in stone.” He touches his hand to where the arc reactor was; a tick I’ve seen him perform many times. “And I know you didn’t just come back here for some nonexistent knick-knacks.”

            I keep from looking at my lap to avoid appearing ashamed. “Just, wanted to see how things are going. Wanted to ask about Peter and find out what you told him about me.”

            Tony sniffs and sits down with a groan. “He’s so doe-eyed, it’s not even funny. For every thirty questions he’s got a thousand more he’s holding back— you can see it, if you look at him, like he’s keeping them in his mouth.”

            I swallow and straighten my lips. “Does he ever come around here?”

            “Once. His aunt doesn’t know the full extent of it, per se.” He winks with his mouth askew. “No, I only gave him the briefest of biographies about you. Should I text him your number?”

            He’s quite pleased with himself. “I’ll text him. I was your intern once, maybe he does need training. ‘Laughing at Mr. Stark’s Jokes: 101.’”

            He shakes his head and flicks on his tablet. “You never laughed.”

            “The brawl that battered you and Steve, Peter didn’t see that, did he?”

            “I don’t want- You don’t need to-” He laughs breathily and rubs his cheek. “See, you ask and so I think about it, and I can’t tell what you hear slash see and it’s very disconcerting. That stays between me and Steve.”

            Understood. Tony sets his tablet aside and studies me like an equation.

            “Yes?”

            He adjusts his cufflink. “Who did you want to take out once you’d finished off Hydra in your front lawn?”

            “Everyone we’d locked away in the months previous.” The answer’s been ready for a while now. “And Erik Lensherr, but I got over that.”

            Tony grits his teeth, can’t look at me, looks at me, away again. “How?”

            “He knew Xavier and Vince both when I didn’t.” I coil a snapped off strand of hair around my index finger. “It’s possible we think about them at the same time. It’s possible regret’s caught up to him.”

            “Do you know where he is?”

            That powerless, friendless old survivor. “Were he dead, I’d hear about it.”

            Another lull. “May I ask where you’ve been?”

            “Sure.” I focus on spreading a wrinkle in the upholstery.

            Tony sighs. “You’ll be changing your number now won’t you? Where should I send the wedding invite?”

            “You found me once.” Reminds me, this little reunion was set up by SHIELD. “Not that you’ve set a date.”

            He smiles up to his eyes. “Whatever you’re up to, let me know when you need help getting out of it.”

            I chastise him with a look.

            “If you want my help.”

            Taking out my phone, I check the time. Wade will be out getting dinner soon. “I might move back to New York. Not here, I’m not Avenging right now, but…I’ll be around. If I can meet Peter after school, I don’t know. It might be like tutoring again.”

            “Right, you enjoyed that.” He rubs his sandpaper chin. “That could actually work. How long can you stick around? I can get some paperwork started.”

            “Start without me, I’ve got errands to run, why can’t the aunt know about any of this?”

            “The kid asked that it be that way.”

            “That’s stupid,” I run a search on my phone, “he’s a minor you have to tell her.”

            “Different bylaws for Avengers. What’re you doing?”

            “Making plans.” I pocket the phone. “K, bye.”

            I stand up to teleport when he also stands up and shakes my hand before I can stop him.

            “No backsies.” 

            I hold on a second longer, squeezing out whatever emotions I can from his touch. Nothing transfers.

 

            The last three times I came to pack nothing had been moved. This time the doorknob was loose. I’ve just picked up the last box when Wade teleports into the room, scaring the crap out of me.

            So. This is exactly what I’d hoped to avoid.

            “Where have you been, why aren’t you picking up your phone?”

            I hold onto the box, not looking at him, not moving.

            “What happened? You’ve never just left before. Weas told me you called him in the middle of the night and didn’t say anything, but you couldn’t call me? What the hell is going on, why have you been packing, what did I do?”

            I gulp and wish I could smooth out the tape on the box lid.

            “Ace, what did I do this time?”

            “Nothing.” Maybe I’d had a plan for explaining it to him, but that just about answers it. “You didn’t do anything, Wade. I did, I fucked up.”

            He sniffles, and I didn’t realize he was crying. “Does that mean you cheated on me, or something worse?”

            “I’m just, an unhappy person.”

            We stop talking. Out of habit he touches his bald head. “Sorry. For what I just thought.”

            I push off the wall. “Just let me get this crap out of here, alright?”

            He sheepishly stands up too, and starts helping by moving boxes to the center of the room. “I wish I knew what would make you happy.”

            “You make me happy, Wade.”

            “Not enough, you’re still leaving.”

            I slam a box shut. “Look, I didn’t want to do this in front of you for this exact reason, I’ve already done enough damage.”

            “Well, doing it behind my back hurts more.”

            “Fine, then doing it in front of you hurts _me_.”

            “Tough noogies, you’re not the one getting dumped.”

            “I didn’t want this in the first place,” I shout.

            “Then what did you want?” he shouts back.

            _“Vince.”_

            “Well I can’t be _Vince_. Check the fine print next time because nowhere on my packaging does it say Perfect Boyfriend.”

            “Husband,” I retort.

            “What-ever, you were married for two days.”

            “Yeah, and Vanessa was a whore, we can’t all live in a fairytale.”

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice becomes unhinged. “This is about you, everything’s about you. You never loved me, you never wanted me- this was all because you wanted easy attention, wasn’t it? And I fell for it, like a moron.”

            Yes, I want to admit. He made the first move, he was attracted first, he kissed me first, but I accepted it because yes, I wanted attention. I wanted distraction. I quickly wipe my eyes with my sleeve, afraid of obscuring my vision and of becoming more pathetic than whatever I already am. “You’re not a moron, Wade.”

            With a trash bag I finish emptying cabinets. “You have a good heart, you did when I met you. Don’t give me an ounce of credit for anything that’s happened since then. I screwed up my own life and you’re just a casualty of it. None of this is your fault. I’ve been wasting _your_ time. Don’t let me waste any more.”

            I close the last box tightly, sniffling. “You’re back in California, you can hang out with whoever you like. Won’t have me driving them away anymore.”

            Wade keeps his disheartened expression. “Do you…you still want to work together? We’re still sorta like business partners…aren’t we?”

            Unsure how to answer, I shoulder as many boxes as I can carry. “We’re still friends. I haven’t planned beyond that.”

 

            September’s come and gone without word one from Clint; when he’s in spy mode he’s harder to contact than I am. The boxes from Wade’s sit unopened in my newest multi-story purchase in Brooklyn. I lean off the fifth floor fire escape watching the sunset and waiting for the spiderling to show.

            In the city’s glow the sun never really sets, and in its shadows the moon does not exist. I tuck both hands in my pockets and pretend I’m on a planet where neither celestial body exists, a planet hidden from the universe. Rapid fire breaks my meditation— god damn video games— and I let out a long breath. Even when I’ve climbed beyond the smell, the noise pollution of the city reaches me wherever I am. Sirens bawl in every borough, unrelated, no riots or anything. Just everyday shit.

            After nine I hear the _thwip_ , _swoosh_ of Tony’s newest recruit approaching. With admirable grace for a teenage boy, he lands on the railing and severs his line.

            “Hey again,” he says. “Sorry to drop in like this, but I just wanted to say hi.”

            “I’ve been waiting for you. Felt I’d be on your way if I sat out here long enough.”

            “Oh,” he’s rightly a little weirded out, but also flattered, “well cool. I talked to Tony about you, and he says you’re pretty awesome, so.” He holds up both thumbs.

            I chuckle. “Yeah well, he’s a dork.”

            “And he said you were an Avenger? Like, you quit?”

            “I quit.” There, finally said it.

            “Wow, that’s…when did you join?”

            “Battle of Manhattan, nineteen.” Now I’m ‘twenty-five.’ Holy crap. This guy’s ten years younger than me. No, wait, more than that. God, can’t remember my own damn age when I’m around people. “Hey, when does your shift end? And also where does your aunt think you are right now?”

            “She, uh, she knows.”

            “She does? Tony said she didn’t.”

            He shrugs sharply. “Yeah, she kinda, found out. Not happy about it, but I explained it to her and…we’ll see.”

            “Oh,” as in ‘uh-oh,’ “well, I don’t blame her. No, I thought we could have a chat and I’d get you something to eat. Tony suggested I give you some pointers and generally keep an eye out for you when I’m in town— what?”

            His shoulders sink. “You mean babysit.”

            “Hey,” I lean off the railing and step toward him, “you did not just reduce me to ‘babysitter.’”

            His shoulders rise to his ears. “Sorry, sorry. It just feels like Tony’s been keeping me in a playpen with a baby monitor installed in my suit. We talked about it, but when I saw you waiting here I didn’t think he got the message.”

            “He’s been babying you?” I sniff. “Good, you’re like, twelve.”

            “C’mon, man.”

            I climb onto the railing and swing my legs over. “So, spider-boy, what sounds good? Name what you want and we’ll eat it. We can even get two dinners _and_ dessert. I eat a lot.”

            The kid actually hops onto my section of railing, sits down, and presses his hands between his knees. “That depends, what sounds good to you?”

            I arch my brow at the sky. “I could go for some noodles; Vietnamese. Then again tri-tip is always good, followed by something ridiculously decadent for dessert— it hasn’t been my best day.”

            “I’m sorry,” he says with polite sympathy, “well, I like everything except European food. It just tastes funny. And Russian, Russia’s not Europe, right? You’re laughing.”

            I have my head turned away from him to laugh. “Then I’ll pick a non-European, non-Russian place and get us a table while you change into your civvies.”

            When I do see his face for the first time I recognize him but can’t place him. Must’ve ran into each other at some point before this, hopefully not during the battle, possibly while things were still good.

            “So,” I shove my empty dinner plate to the side and start in on the second one, “why do you do this? Saw you on YouTube, so I know you haven’t always had Tony’s backing.”             

            He squints at the ceiling as he finishes chewing. “When you’re capable of doing the right thing it’s wrong not to do it. I think that’s how it goes, it’s a quote I saw online. Think it’s a proverb, or biblical, or something.”

            I press my lips together and estimate him. “Yeah, I think so too.”

            “If Tony hadn’t approached me I’d still be doing it. Just so you know.”

            “But you’re glad he did. In spite of the babying?”

            “Heck yes. I’ve always, like, y’know. Looked up to him.” He’s knocking his knees together beneath the table. “And he’s been real nice to me.”

            Regret of the day: I didn’t melt into Tony’s arms when I had the chance. He’s not the Tony I first knew who’d awkwardly make a big deal of my pain or even tease me for it. This Tony plants his feet firmly and lets you put all your weight on him. I could’ve gotten away with that today. “He’s a real nice person.”

            “I thought he was a dork?” Peter arches a brow as he drinks soda from a bottle.

            “Oh good,” I say sarcastically, “he loves a smartass.”

            Like a proper smartass, he doesn’t apologize for it, just grins with all his teeth before the next mouthful of food. “So, what kind of pointers did Tony want you to give me?”

            “Tony has no say in this,” I answer, “I’m really just interested in helping you do your job. You have to deal with a lot in this city, and I don’t think Tony has the perspective needed for street work.”

            He swallows and cleans his face with a napkin. “Okay. Then, from your perspective, what should I know that I don’t already?”

            My muscles petrify.

            Tell him about the burnout. How after a few years you just can’t take it anymore, how as soon as you clean up one mess the world creates a bigger one. Tell him about you, and Stark, and the X-Men; how you all fell apart and are running on fumes. How you find yourself carrying the world on your back with no one to carry you, how your hope and idealism fail you at the worst possible moments, and how you somehow always walk away feeling more guilt than the criminals and monsters ever did. Tell him to go home and cherish what’s left of his un-extraordinary life.

            “You’ve got this,” I say. “and if you ever feel like you don’t, there will always be someone backing you up. Okay? We’re proud to have you.”

            I’m scared to death for this kid.


End file.
